In The Attics Of Our Brains
by PageBoy15
Summary: Mutli-Chapter, Post S3 Finale, where Sam and Addison attempt to have a relationship without a definition, and where actual families force themselves into the lives of their replacements.
1. Chapter 1

They're interviewing candidates for the open receptionist job. It's a dull job made worse by grief and unrealistic expectations (for while midwifery skills are not technically a requirement, at this point they're very much welcome. More billable hours. More happy mothers-to-be). Those requesting the position are young, inexperienced, and perfect for the responsibility the job requires; B.A. undergrads with no other options and no interest in the field of medicine. They wear suits to their appointments. They refer to her simply as 'Doctor'. Addison hates them all.

The most recent hopeful exits the conferences room, chipper, hopeful, and oblivious to the heavy black line that's just been drawn furiously across his name. Under the table, Sam's hand reaches for hers, their fingers looping together, the warmth of his palm a reassuring anchor in a sea of miserable, administrative discomfort.

It's not that they're hiding. It's just, in light of everything, their hesitant step forward into the world of romance has slid into the backseat. Public displays of affection, giant declarations of love are unwarranted, unnecessary complications. Together, they just are. They're Sam and Addison. Charlotte's walking around with a giant rock on her finger; Violet's recently tacked a picture of Pete and Lucas on the practice's refrigerator door. Also, Dell's dead.

"We'll find someone," Sam promises as Addison shuffles through the stack of applications.

"There's no one to find," she protests stubbornly. "I don't even know who we're looking for. Do you?"

"Last time we just went with a temp agency," Sam reminds her. Replacing a friend becomes a lot less painful if you're not the one putting the face behind the desk.

"Last time we knew he was coming back."

-o-

Amelia's been in Seattle for two weeks, reconnecting with her big brother, getting to know her new sister-in-law. Sam and Addison have used the time alone to navigate and redefine the rules of their new relationship. He likes his kitchen; she prefers her sheets. They spend their nights wrapped around each other, making up for lost time and missed opportunities during the day.

"What's this from?" Sam asks, curious, poking at a scar on her bare knee, reveling in the feeling of Addison's bare back resting against his chest.

"Bike accident. Flew over the handlebars in the vineyard. I was seven."

"You were a real daredevil, huh?" Sam teases. It's an adorable image, a miniscule, fresh-faced version of Addison pedaling cautiously, face wrinkled in determined concentration.

"I landed on my face, actually. Here, look, there's a scar under my chin too, see?"

"Mmm," he affirms, placing a kiss on the marked skin before moving his lips down her long neck. "I do see."

At home (their home, the houses, the distinction still unclear so early on) they created their own little sanction of security and bliss. Sam cooks dinner, they eat outside then relax while stretching out on the same lounge chair. Addison's inwardly afraid that Naomi will walk in and catch them like that, fears that just as before the comfort and the intimacy will freak out her friend more than plain physical contact would. Sam, secretly, hopes for the exact opposite.

It's not that they're hiding. But their not, _not_ hiding either. He keeps quiet though, unwilling to rock the boat. He's with Addison and they're happy, and that's what matters. Everything else be damned.

-o-

Addison's at the hospital; she gently shook him awake early this morning with the message that she was off to perform an emergency C-section and expected to be gone in the morning and most of the afternoon. They've slept in the same bed for almost three weeks now; despite the late hours that come hand in hand with any new relationship even those not preceded by a year of longing, Sam's never slept so deeply, felt so rested.

They laughed about it once; Addison joking that they've already become boring; that they already know all there is to know about each other.

"Not true," he said with a shake of his head, grinning at her as he set down two plates of meticulously prepared fish tacos. "For example, I didn't realize that you had such horribly bad taste in music. The _Scissor Sisters_, Addison? Really?"

"Shut up. They transcend time and culture. Plus –Oh. My god. These are delicious."

He wonders when Amelia's coming back, what stories she'll bring from up north, whether her reappearance will affect the supremely pleasant dynamic they've managed to maintain so far. Sam likes waking up next to Addison, loves having the first sensation of the day be her naked stomach against his forearm. He likes that she shook him awake, rather than disappear into the wee hours of the day. He likes that they're a team.

A male hand sticks its way in between the closing elevator doors, and their re-opening reveals Pete, the remaining tinge of Sam's punch still hovering around his eye, with Violet by his side. He doesn't think Pete's mad. Pete's probably chalked it all up to stress and frustration and raised tension and Sam's worry over his daughter, and that's all true it is but also…

Well. It's just a good thing for Pete that he's not Mark Sloan. The fact that Sam, on some level, still actually liked Pete was what stopped him from throwing in a second and third hit while his adrenaline level was that high.

"Morning Sam," Violet says, sliding in next to him while Pete moves to her other side. "Have you and Addison had any lucking finding a replacement yet?"

"Nah… not, not yet," Sam replies, fiddling with the back of his neck, eyes locked onto the illuminated floor numbers. "Addison thinks… well, we haven't found anyone who… seems dedicated."

"I could sit in," Violet offers, shifting her purse higher up on her shoulder. "Offer my insight on which candidates are most earnest."

"I think Sam and Addison probably have a handle on things," Pete interjects from his corner as the elevator screeches to a stop. "Well, this is me." As the door opens, he touches Violet's elbow briefly before striding out into the sleek, modern lobby of Pacific Wellcare.

"He seems a little on edge," Sam comments mildly, once he and Violet are left alone. "Everything okay with you two?" Mostly, selfishly, he's trying to steer attention away from Pete's earlier comment, trying not to remind Violet that he once dumped on her his entire emotional state in a moment of weakness. She knows he's in love with Addison, but doesn't know he's with Addison. Addison might know both, but as of yet those three little words have gone unsaid. It's exhausting, attempting to keep track of all the various trails and ties connecting the two floors and all their friends.

"We're… It's an adjustment," is Violet's non-answer. "I'm at Pete's house, and I'm spending time with Lucas. That's where we are."

Once they reach the fifth floor, Violet scurries away with a casual departing gesture over her shoulder. Sam feels guilty, zeroing in on her problems like that. It can't be easy, being a new mother to a child that's no longer a newborn. Remembering what he and Naomi were like at that stage, tired and scared and uncertain, he can't even imagine juggling a new relationship on top of that.

They all have little pieces of emotional ammo, poised at the edge of their fingertips to employ at a moment's notice. The baby factor, Lucas, has not been brought up once. Sam wonders how much he's supposed to know about that part of Addison, wonders if she realizes what he saw through their parallel windows: her tentative steps into something like motherhood, her terrified whispers of self-reassurance when she thought no one was looking.

-o-

It had been the very first night. Sometime in between them moving from the couch, to the floor, to the stairs, to the hallway, to his bed, the sun had set. By the time he had Addison pressed into pillows, pushing into her again, lips locked, hands clasped, he had already memorized the curve of her breasts, the length of her legs, the taste inside of her. He was, still is, intoxicated.

Anyway, they hadn't spoken in hours, since she first slid open his porch door. In retrospect there were questions that could have, probably should have been asked before she even pulled her dress over her head. Questions about whether or not she was sure, what about Naomi, what about Pete, had she ended things with him, was she in this for real now. But the thing was, he's been ready to take this leap with for almost a year now. And once it started happening, even if her answers to every single one of those questions had been disappointed, he still would have followed through, would have kissed her back, would have carried her upstairs. Because there's no way she could be feeling even half of what he's feeling and not want to see this thing through, not want them to last forever.

There was something about that first night though. The way, maybe, once their breathing returned to normal, she curled instinctively into his side, the way his arms felt wrapped around her. Or maybe it was the next morning, how when they finally woke up to pages and responsibilities and the outside world, nothing felt more natural then having her in his bed, the smelling her hair before his eyes even cracked open.

God, he's just… he's so in love. And not that… I mean he's been in love _before _but…

Here's the thing. If it doesn't work out with Addison, if it turns out she's not the one, this feels like the kind of love he wouldn't be able to bounce back from.

So, it was sometime in that first night, that Sam realized that this was the beginning of how his life was meant to be.

-o-

Addison's not an idiot. She knows that, Bailey's advice nonwithstanding, she has, had, a tendency to define herself by the men in her life. That's why she turned to Mark in her darkest hour, why she looked towards Alex to fix Seattle. Like, if this one thing was okay, if she was happy in love, the rest would just fall into place.

Bizzy used to be the most miserable person she knew, until Addison realized her mother had been in love this whole time. Maybe the problem was, she could only see Bizzy as the woman she had been during Addison's childhood, before Susan, back when she didn't care about the Captain's affair but she didn't have anyone to keep her company in his absence. If her mother was happy now, Addison was too biased to notice, too angry to care.

The Captain, however, has taken over the role of most miserable, had proven that meaningless sex means nothing, helps not at all.

She should feel horrible about being so happy now. She should be sad about Dell, and worried about Naomi, and she should want Amelia to come back, and she should become better friends with Violet. But that's not what makes her happy. Sam makes her happy. And shockingly, she makes him happy too, so she's going to do whatever she can to keep him that way, maintain his happiness.

The funeral was… awful. It was too soon, at least that's how it felt. The last funeral Addison had been to was her paternal grandfather's, a kindly old man who taught her how to tie sailors knots and used to hoist her up onto horses' backs. They had hired a female undertaker to deal with the arrangements. The Captain had slept with her three days later.

Naomi had cried harder than anyone, Betsey included; Fife hadn't shown. Violet remained stoic, Pete too, Cooper looked befuddled, as if he expected someone to jump out at any moment and announce the whole thing was a joke, Charlotte was there mainly to hold Cooper's hand.

Sam had stood next to her the entire time. His hand wasn't touching hers, he didn't have an arm wrapped around her shoulder, but he was there. As the casket was lowered into the ground, his finger reached to stoke her knuckle, and it was about that time that Addison broke out of her daze long enough to realize she was crying.

He wakes her up. It's like she's been half-alive, barely moving, static for years. But he's waking her up. She's sharing, which is an entirely new concept, and she's not afraid of being taken care, as long as he's the one having her back.

Months ago, when she told Pete she was in love with Sam, it was true. But Addison didn't really understand the weight behind those words until now. And oddly enough, she's pretty sure she's okay with it.

-o-

"How's Maya?" was Naomi's way of introduction this afternoon, appearing awkwardly at his office door, not coming any closer into the threshold. He thought they were passed this.

Maya's doing well. Catherine, the baby, his granddaughter's, name is. Catherine Wilma. His daughter is calm and strong, not frazzled by late-night cries or fussing. Every time he visits, Dink stands behind her, not quiet a man yet, but much further along than his peers, certainly more mature than Sam had been at his age. Slowly, but surely, he's growing fond of the boy. The fact that he's obviously a wonderful father helps. He relates all this to Naomi, trying to refrain from gushing too much, unaware of how absent Naomi's truly been since the birth.

"I'm going to go see her Sam."

"All right," he says, nodding. He wants to believes he wants also not to invest too much into his ex-wife's words. Nothing against Naomi, it's just at this point in his life he needs to think that a person's life should not be measured against their parents'; that people can overcome anything, that his daughter will someday be amazing both at motherhood and at life.

"I am."

"Okay. You should. Maya… it's been a rough couple of weeks. Maya gets that."

He wants to have a child with Addison. Seeing her coo over his granddaughter, the way her elegant finger traced the baby's cheek, how comfortably she felt collecting her in her arms… It's too soon, and it's medically impossibly nonetheless. A conversation for another time, but a dream that shouldn't be forgotten.

Back in his kitchen, he looks up to see Addison stepping hesitantly into the room. Something's… off. "Everything okay?' he inquires, his hands automatically maintaining the proper chopping motion on the peppers laid out in front of him.

"Yes. Well, maybe, I…" Addison crossed the room until she's in front of him, and places a gentle hand on his wrist. "You might want to put down the knife."

"Okay." Sam obediently lays down the instrument, not taking his eyes of her face. He would hold her gaze, except her pupils are darting all around his features, her hands twitching nervously at her sides. "Addison, what is it?"

"The patient I had today…" she begins nervously, her fingers finally reaching out to caress his face. "Her step-father… Sam, I'm pretty sure he's your dad."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Many thanks and non-stop props to my beta Jamie, who is incredibly awesome and who made this story legible. Thanks Jamie!

Robert Jackson held his son for about thirty seconds before deciding to run. It hadn't been the initial plan. While he may not have been completely in love with Evelyn yet, and secretly hadn't been at all at the time of his son's conception, he liked her well enough. She was pretty and sweet, stubborn with greater religious convictions than he was used to, a real family girl, completely enamored of him.

So when she told him she was pregnant, he told her they would get married. Not until after the baby was born, Evelyn had decided. She didn't want to hide the mistake she had made or make people feel as though they were trying to pull a fast one, crossing their fingers that no one would due the math back from the due date. She would have the baby, and they would love him, and they would love each other, and then they would get married.

-o-

She's not judging, she's just concerned. Addison, obviously, understands avoidance, but that being said she's always found it easier to avoid a problem that has already been to a certain extent acknowledged. Her father being a whore was hardly ever a secret, but it was a concrete fact that could be locked behind the "Do Not Disturb" door of her brain. Likewise with Bizzy's lesbianism. What Sam's doing now, however, is basically the equivalent of her showing up in Seattle, eyes screwed shut, fingers in her ears, replying "Meredith who?" to all of Derek's declarations of adulterous love.

He doesn't want to meet him. Sam doesn't seem especially angry, or disturbed, or even shook up, but he doesn't want to meet him.

"I've gone forty years without a father," he explains that same night over a glass of wine and a delicious dinner. "And… well I was angry, sure, back when I was a kid. But I have a family now, and it's complete without him in it."

If she was still nothing more than Sam's annoying friend, over sharing and crossing boundaries comforted by a platonic safety net, Addison would be pushing him much harder. But she's more now, so she doesn't. She treads cautiously, careful not to step onto any old wounds. "It just feels like you have a opportunity now. I mean, he's only in town for a few days. What if he leaves and…. and that's just it?"

"That's all it was before," Sam replies stubbornly, unwilling to open a chapter of his life that has been long since slammed shut.

"Before he wasn't hanging out at St. Ambrose," Addison points out, "I mean… don't you even want to see him?"

"Addison, my father doesn't even realize I'm here. And if he does, there's a good chance he doesn't want to see me either." The words sound juvenile even to him, but it's the sort of argument Sam doesn't mind making to her. She, more than anyone else he knows, get the emotional backpedaling that occurs whenever parents and childhood collides with one's current existence.

"Who says he has to?"

-o-

They go to bed that night, dropping the father subject for a much more pleasant one, namely each other. Sam runs his tongue over the gentle shell of her ear, his hand over the lovely swell of her buttocks, and underneath him Addison's body opens up at his touch. He doesn't think he'll ever grow accustomed to being with her. He believes that he'll wake up every day a little unsure and unsteady, but gloriously so. She makes everything that's bad bearable and everything that's good better, and as she kisses him he thinks _this is family_.

-o-

He looks just like Sam, to the extent that she was quite thrown the first time he came in to visit his stepdaughter, Addison's patient, Melanie. A little taller, more slender, but he has the same eyes and the same smile. More excitable; he seemed slightly uneasy around the young pregnant girl, though she smiled at him with fondness. He fidgeted with his hat and his glasses throughout Addison's entire exam, but stayed bedside despite his discomfort.

Loyalty demands that Addison hate this man. After all, he's caused her best friend turned boyfriend some significant emotional damage, most of which probably has yet to be acknowledged, plus caused undue stress and pain to Sam's mother, a woman who Addison respects and cares about very much. And yet, within the sterile confines of the hospital walls, he doesn't seem reckless, irresponsible, cruel. He seems nice (the word _familiar_ comes to mind).

Her mind is busy, rushing through all these thoughts while at the same time trying to catalogue the rest of her week, when the elevator is halted by a hand, Naomi's.

"Addison!" her friend greets her brightly, and when was the last time she saw Naomi, spoke with her in the way they used to? The funeral, maybe. Naomi had been crying, and she had instinctively wrapped an arm around her shoulders, but no, they hadn't talked then. Before that she had been in Switzerland, and before that… well, it had been a while.

"Naomi," she nods back, aware that she's being slightly cold but unable to shake off this morning's pre-work doldrums. "You seem – you're in a good mood."

"Trying to be," is the reply. "I visited Maya last night. And... I'm seeing someone."

"Fife?"

"Gabriel," Naomi correct, grinning. "We're dating now, I figured it was time to move him up to first-name basis."

Addison gets out a laugh, as the doors to the fourth floor opens. Strange, how little she knows about the man who has apparently cheered her friend up so effectively; how she has no idea at what point Naomi stopped deciding to hate him. "Well it's… really good to see you smiling," she says sincerely, stepping off into Oceanside's lobby.

It's not until she's in her office, flipping through her appointment book that she realizes Robert is Maya's grandfather, was at one point Naomi's father-in-law, even if he didn't know it.

Separating fetal blood vessels is generally considering an incredibly daunting, difficult task. Really, it's the broader connections that require more skill to dismantle.

-o-

"What's the plan?" Sam mutters, clothed in non-descript but annoying vibrant purple scrubs, head buried in a chart that has never been filled out, is assigned to no one. His back is to the door that Addison claims his father is behind. His inhaler is within reach.

"No plan, really," she answers, leaning against the opposite wall, facing the room. "I tell you when he comes out, you turn around or don't."

"And if I don't?" It all seems a little surreal, scripted. History seems to suggest he won't be able to; confrontation has never been his strong suit. It's something that Sam has been trying to work on, being bold, being honest, not letting people slip away without a fight, without letting him have his say. But this is something different. The thought occurs, suddenly, that perhaps he should call his mom.

Addison pauses for a second before answering. "If you don't want to, that's fine. But don't not do it because you think you can't. You _can_. It's just a matter of whether or not you want to." She had convinced herself that she couldn't kick her parents out, had to live with them and their secrets and lies until they decided enough was enough and she could be free. She didn't want Sam to feel like that, like the situation was out of his hands and he was just along for the incredibly complicated ride. "But either way, it'll all be fine. Okay? I promise."

Sam smiles a takes a step forward, eyes still glued to the chart, leaving enough room between them that it could still be taken for a professional distance unless you were really paying attention. "If we weren't in the middle of a crowded hospital right now, I'd kiss you."

"If we weren't in the hospital, I'd let you."

-o-

When the labor had started she had tried calling him, but he was in the middle of an untimely shift at the factory and couldn't be reached. By the time he got the messages, and rushed over to the hospital, she was passed out against the standard-issue cushion, skin still flushed from exertion. In the corner, the nurse who was wrapping up the baby, brightened when he came skidding into the room.

"You must be the father!" she said brightly. "She's just closed her eyes, so exhausted poor thing. Would you like to hold your son while you wait for her to wake up?"

"My son?" he asked dumbly, unable to make out any of the baby's features, so covered he was in blanket. The nurse nodded pleasantly, and pressed the baby into his arms, making sure he was supporting the head properly before disappearing out the door.

There was no good reason for what he did. He just looked down at the baby (still the baby, not his son), and realized he couldn't do it. And the next thing he knew, he was running out the door. He left them.

-o-

Sam turns around. He couldn't not, not after he noticed Addison's suddenly rigid posture and wide eyes over his shoulder. He turns, and he stares, and then he tugs Addison's hand, pulling her down the hall. "Let's go."


End file.
